About Time
by Youaretheflametomycandle
Summary: Sherlock and John are finally happy, but not for long. John has something about him that Moriarty needs to further develop his latest project, and Miss Adler knows his worth. A thrilling tale in the making, involving excellent plot twists (even if I do say so myself.) M for violence mainly. (Post Fall)
1. The Proposal

Sherlock was waiting in the kitchen, wrapped up in his coat. He was pacing back and forth, running through the events that were to unfold. He had politely asked Mrs Hudson to go out for the afternoon; he had even bought her some movie tickets. He had the kettle going and the TV on low in the other room.

He heard the door being unlocked, opened and then heavy, even footsteps coming up the stairs. He stuck his hand in his pocket. He listened to the other stop so he could take off his wet jacket, slide off his boots and continue into the flat. He went straight into the kitchen.

"Hello, Sherlock," He slid on arm around Sherlock's waist as he took the kettle off and poured some tea. "You want one?" John moved his hand to rest on Sherlock's hip.

"Uh… yes please, darling," Sherlock stood there and watched John make the tea. They both took a long sip; Sherlock looked on slightly lustfully at John's pursed lips.

"Any progress?" John said, noticing Sherlock's gaze.

He seemed to have been awoken from a dream. "Sorry, progress on?" He flicked his eyes to meet John's.

"The case? With the shooter?" John stepped closer to Sherlock, noticing how distracted he was.

"Oh, yes. I don't see how I didn't realize sooner. The shooter was a female, the suspect's sister. That way she'd have easy access to the family fortune, because Bekky was always the responsible one, am I wrong? The only thing standing in the way of her fortune was her mother, not the guard, so she only had to kill her mother," Sherlock forgot everything else as he went through his discoveries.

"And the other five? Bullets in the eye, every single one. Except her mother, who was shot in the back? How do you explain that?" John asked, fiddling with Sherlock's jacket.

"She was trained to shoot in the left eye, for obvious reasons. She had never met the other five, her mother's colleagues. She could kill them easily, like she was trained. But she obviously had an emotional attachment to her mother, couldn't kill her while looking her in the face. Her mistake was killing the colleges. If she hadn't, the business would've kept going and making her money, and the time and date of the deaths wouldn't have been discovered. It was simple really," Sherlock looked into John's eyes and refocused on his current mission. "So, lots of progress."

"That's good," John planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek and sat down on the couch in the other room.

"John. I-I err… You know that I love you," Sherlock sat next to John and put a hand on his knee.

"Yes, I do. And I love you too. Why's that?" John turned the TV down even more to give Sherlock his full attention.

Sherlock took a big breath and turned to face John. "I came back for you, John. You were what brought me back. I didn't want to be dead; I wanted to be alive, just for you. I saw you, lonely and afraid and I just had to come back. It's been two years, on the dot in fifteen minutes, since I came back and told you I loved you for the first time. Every day since then has been perfect in ways I cannot describe. My pulse quickens simply when you enter the room, John. I don't know what I would've done, what I would do now, without you. If you had not been here, waiting for me, then I would still be 'dead.' I need to thank you for that, for being there and loving me back. So, thank you. And, as well as that, I wanted to tell you that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, John."

Sherlock flickered his eyes from the TV to the clock to his jacket to John's eyes.

John had tears swelling in his eyes. He had put his hands on Sherlock's hands on his own knees. He was choking on a sob, a happy sob. He had been waiting for this for so long.

"I know, Sherlock, I know! And I love you, too. I…" His voice trailed off.

Sherlock put his hand in his pocket, wrapped his long fingers around the small case, within which was a simple golden ring. He prepared himself for the big moment. When he opened his eyes, however, John was on his knee in front of Sherlock. Sherlock stood up from surprise; his eyes widened and mouth gaping. John let out a small, breathy laugh and a tear rolled down his cheek. Sherlock stumbled back a little, the corners of his mouth turning up with pure adoration for John.

"Sherlock," John breathed his name, another tear of happiness rolling down his cheeks. Sherlock stepped back towards John, the ring box clenched in his fist. He couldn't form words. "Sherlock," John said louder. He had a little blue box in his hand, which he opened to reveal a plain silver ring. "Will you marry me, and spend the rest of my life with me?"

Sherlock wiped away his own tear with his free hand and said, with his hand on his cheek, "Yes, John! Of course!" He then extended his arm to John, sobs racking through him as he smiled lovingly down at John.

"Other hand, Sherlock," John said with a loving laugh. Sherlock looked at his fist, twisted his hand so that the little ring box was held between his fingertips. John's jaw dropped. Sherlock looked to John then to the ring. "Me first," John said, and Sherlock swapped the ring to the other hand and lowered it to John. He slid the silver ring along Sherlock's finger. He grabbed his hand and kissed it. He got up and looked up to Sherlock, both men were crying and laughing, the biggest smiles either had ever portrayed across their love-struck faces.

"I would, John, love to spend the rest of my life with you," He slid the ring on to John's ring finger and he, too, kissed his hand.

They embraced, tight and long. Sherlock kissed John's neck as they both laughed and cried and smiled.

The happy they felt now definitely made up for all the sad both man had felt before. And all the sad they would ever have to feel.

"Oh, boys!" Mrs Hudson let out a little cry of joy. "Oh… about time!" She said and ran up and gave them both a hug. "Oh, I'll get out of the house for a bit longer! Give you to your privacy!" Then she hurried back out the door. "Oh, I just… Good Lord. It took them long enough…"


	2. Abducted

The day had finally come. Both John and Sherlock were immensely excited.

John was in his flat with Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, getting ready. Mrs Hudson was fixing his hair.

"John, oh, I can't believe you're finally getting married! You should have seen Sherlock this morning, he was on a cloud!" Mrs Hudson buzzed cheerily. She was wearing a nice purple dress.

"Yea, well done, mate. It took you two long enough," Lestrade punched John playfully in the arm as he walked past. He was wearing a grey tuxedo and had a white flower pinned to his breast pocket. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad for you!" He relaxed on the couch, drinking a beer. "Just curious, did you invite Anderson?"

"Do you think we invited Anderson?" John looked at him, doing up his bowtie.

"It's just that… I'm pretty sure he said he was coming. I don't know how well that will go down with Sherlock but…" Lestrade finished his drink.

"No, no, no! If he's there, you'll ignore him or play friendly. I don't want anything to ruin this day!" Mrs Hudson chirped from the kitchen. "This has to be perfect,"

Mycroft sat in his lounge, drinking tea. He was in a plain brown suit. He had the keys to the limo in his hand. "You can still back out, brother."

Sherlock burst out of the dressing room, his white shirt unbuttoned and black tuxedo jacket hanging loosely on his shoulders. He was doing up his pants and trying to fix his hair at the same time.

"You don't understand, Mycroft!" He bellowed at his brother, "You never will! Caring isn't a weakness, it's a stronghold. If I didn't love and care for John as much as I do, I wouldn't be here," He stepped right up to his seated brother, talking calmly and scarily quiet now. "I think you're a coward. You know that, though, don't you?" He finished as he walked back into the dressing room.

"Yes, quite. Nevertheless, I suppose I'm happy for you then. Hurry up and get ready, you'll be late!" He left and readied the limo.

John took a white limo with Mrs Hudson to the wedding. It was being held in a church near the country in London. John had gone there when he was a kid. How shocked the pastor there would be to find that his little Sunday school John had gone to war and come back gay. John laughed at the thought.

"I can't say how happy I am for you two! You'll make a gorgeous couple! And you'll be perfect parents!" Mrs Hudson was still chirping, a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Thank you, I'm happy too. I can't actually get my head around the fact that I'm going to be a husband. I'm going to be married, Mrs Hudson!" John put his hands on her knees and they talked and laughed happily until they got there. It was all set up, everyone was seated. It was exactly how John had planned it. (Sherlock had decided it best that John organize the wedding.) John opened the door for Mrs Hudson, who then walked him into the chapel.

There were about forty people there in total. John's family and friends, Sherlock's few friends and some colleagues that ended up on the guest list. Everyone was smiling pleasantly as John and Mrs Hudson walked down the aisle. John was shaking slightly and Mrs Hudson had started to cry. Just as they reached the altar and Mrs Hudson sat down, the next car pulled up. In walked Sherlock and Mycroft, a good foot and a half between them. Neither looked at each other, but Sherlock was smiling up at John, while Mycroft grinned sarcastically at some old ladies.

Finally, John and Sherlock were standing next to each other, hand in hand. The priest stood in front of them, wearing a red stocky robe and a strange headpiece that covered his face.

"I love you, John" Sherlock whispered before the priest started.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The priest yelled out. His voice sounded eerily familiar. "Today we witness a great and foooooolish act. Sherlock Holmes, the great detective, has made a fatal mistake!"

John suddenly looked terrified, realizing who the voice belonged too. Sherlock was backing away, but he had let is guard down today and was clumsy.

"He fell in… LOVE!" The priest screamed as he ripped off the headpiece. Sherlock was only just getting his footing when Moriarty grabbed John around the neck, held him in a headlock and put a gun to his ear. "Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock! You are _too _easy! Thank you for another delightfully thrilling encounter." He aimed the gun at John's foot and shot. John yelped. Sherlock launched himself at Moriarty, but he had disappeared. Into thin air, he had just gone. Just. Like. That. Sherlock collapsed onto the floor; he heard Mrs Hudson sob loudly in the background.


	3. Moriarty's New Trick

Moriarty dropped John. He landed on cold cement, his elbows taking most of the blow. He looked around; he was in a large abandoned shed, his breathing echoed through the metal walls.

"Hello, John." Moriarty was sitting on a simple wooden chair, twenty meters away from John. "It's good to see… me," he laughed a harsh, barking laugh. John stood up, his brain spinning circles. He was in a chapel just a second ago. And now he was here, in a shed. He was sure he hadn't passed out. He took a step towards the suited man, who was now filing his nails. Then the pain shot through his leg and up his spine. His knee gave way and he landed, hard, on the floor again. Another harsh laugh echoed throughout the room. John looked up and Moriarty was standing right there, in front of him. Less than two meters from him. He had heard no footsteps, and there was no way he could have gotten here that fast. John held a hand to his head, he was _sure _he hadn't passed out or fallen asleep.

"What've you done… with Sherlock," John found talking hard and his voice was wheezy, like something made of rusty metal had replaced his lungs.

"Oh no, it's what I'm doing with you that you should worry about," He flicked John's ear. "Do you like my new trick?"

Sherlock felt a large hand on his back. He looked up to Lestrade, who was avoiding Sherlock's eye and instead staring out to the empty chapel. Everyone had left, confused and worried, except for Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. "Get up, mate," he said calmly. Sherlock got up, slowly. He ran his hand through his hair and stepped towards Mrs Hudson, who was wiping away the last of her tears.

"He couldn't have just left you alone?" A sob racked through her ribs. "Just one more day?" She bowed her head. Sherlock wrapped her in his long arms.

"Mrs Hudson, you don't need to worry. I'm already on it," He stepped back just as quickly as he had stepped in.

"Atta boy," Lestrade said. Sherlock bent over the spot where John had been standing and ran a finger over the carpeted block. Nothing. He looked to where Moriarty had been. There were footprints leading up to where he stood, there were footprints from where he had jumped and grabbed John. There was even the little blood stain from where John's foot had been shot. Sherlock's gut tightened. He didn't want John to be hurt. Please, not hurt.

And then nothing. They just disappeared. Not possible, Sherlock said to himself. He looked up to the high ceiling; no damage, no hole. There was _no possible way _they had got out.

"Impossible," he stated, tasting the word, not liking where this case was going. He stood back and looked over where the three of them had been standing. His own footsteps, marks on the floor where he had lay, a small wet patch from his tears. There was the head piece was lying on the floor, several feet away. He picked it up, running along his fingers. He studied it momentarily. He spun round to Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. "This is Russian. I should have noticed it straight away. He was wearing Russian robes! Except for his shoes, the robes covered his shoes. They were ordinary black flats. Shoes to go with a suit. Lestrade, can we get a flight to Russia?"

"You're rushing into things, Sherlock. Russia is a big place, where would we even start looking?" Lestrade sat down, followed by Mrs Hudson.

"Yes, dear, we need to think logically." She muttered.

"I am thinking logically!" Sherlock bellowed, his face already going purple. He paced up and down, his hands balled into fists. He settled and kneeled in front of Mrs Hudson. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Nothing has ever been… like this," he held his hand to his stomach; it felt hollow.

"It's ok, Sherlock, I understand," she nodded and put a hand on his shoulder before putting both her hands to her face. "If you want to go to Russia, we'll go to Russia."

Sherlock, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson left the chapel.

"What trick?" John breathed. His mind was racing, his thoughts constantly interrupted by the pain. He thought of what Sherlock would do, he thought of the movies. He settled with trying to get Moriarty to monologue.

"Eyes on me, John!" Moriarty yelled into John's face. He was doubled over, hands behind his back. John managed to look up, his nervous, watering eyes meeting Moriarty's crazed ones. "You've helped me, and you will continue to help me. I believe that." He heard a tiny little zap, echoed slightly through the huge shed. He wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been completely silent.

After the zap, Moriarty was gone. John jumped, shocked. His mind was already muddled enough. He looked up and around. And there he was, leaning against the wall. "Isn't it a marvellous trick, John?!" He spoke, but it echoed well. John managed to get to his feet. His nice tuxedo was dusty at the joints. He loosened his bowtie so he could breathe easier. He staggered around, should he ask how or why first?

"Why…" a pain shot through his leg and spine. "Why are you doing this?" he asked as loud as he could manage. He began to walk towards Moriarty, hoping for any kind of help. He hadn't been shot in years, he had forgotten the pain. Just as he was nearing twenty feet away – Moriarty had been watching with sick glee – the zap sounded again. John spun around, causing more pain, twisting his suit. His captor was standing right there, within arm's reach. "Why?" he muttered again.

"The same reason, I pushed your husband off a building," he sneered. "The same reason I help people, _criminals," _he ran a hand along the collar of John's suit jacket. "I'm bored." He stepped back and took out a mobile phone from his inside pocket. He dialled some numbers and handed it to John. "Your husband?"

John took the phone eagerly. "Where are we?" he asked Moriarty while it dialled. "I demand you tell me where we are!" he bellowed, regaining some of his usual gut. Moriarty took a few steps back.

"Russia somewhere, I suppose. Got the robes from a shop down the road. But that doesn't matter," he turned his maniac eyes to John, his voice going deep all of a sudden, "we could be in Australia in a second. We could be in the NASA headquarters in a blink of an eye. _You _could be left hundreds of meters underwater. Do you understand," and his voice when high again, "_how many ways I can kill you?!" _ Moriarty's eyes gleamed with a twisted joy. Sherlock picked up the phone.

"Moriarty!" He shouted down the phone.

"It's John. I'm alright, we're in Russia," John blurted out, not sure how much time he had before Moriarty demanded the phone back.

"John, oh John." Sherlock lost his words for a moment. "We're coming to you,"

"No! You can't do that. Moriarty's doing a… a thing. He can disappear and reappear wherever he wants. Don't come here, you need to get Moriarty to come to you," he muttered. Moriarty smiled at him, almost genuine. He was almost pleased that John had figured it out.

"You're getting better at this," he said, nodding towards him.

"John, I'm going to find you!" Sherlock said, his voice wobbly.

"No!" John snapped. "Listen to me Sherlock. I'm going to give the phone to Moriarty," Moriarty nodded again. "You have to get him to come to you. Please, think logically. I'm not hurt," John lied, "but I will be if you don't listen to me _and _Moriarty," John was talking faster now, clearly nervous. Or worse, frightened. "Bye, Sherlock. See you soon." John gave the phone to Moriarty.

"Sherlock" Moriarty cooed into the phone.

"What do you want, you bastard!" Mrs Hudson gasped at the profanity. Lestrade was leaning on the entrance to the chapel and Sherlock was pacing around in front of it.

"I want you, Sherlock," he said, saucily.

"I swear Moriarty, what the hell do you want? Money? Weapons?" Sherlock smashed a fist against the chapel, cracking it.

"You'd give me weapons?"

"GIVE ME JOHN!" Mrs Hudson couldn't help but give an involuntary yelp.

"Now, now Sherlock. Keep calm… or I'll shoot him," Moriarty said evenly. "I want… well, you, obviously!" He whispered flirtatiously. "And I want Irene Adler. She owes me. I think you'll be able to get onto her?"

"I haven't had any contact with The Woman for four years. Seeing as I'm no help, give me John."

"No, you _have _talked to her. Why won't you tell anyone? Are you helping her? Oh dear, Sherlock. I think you're heart isn't quite set on one person is it?" Moriarty delighted in the expression that came over John's face. "Aha, little John is jealous!"

"Come here. Talk to me. I'll give you whatever you want, I'll hand myself over," Sherlock heard John yell 'no!' in the background. "And you let John go. Just… just come here," He let out a breath, deflating his chest. "Please," he begged. He hung his head, leaned against the chapel wall. He heard Lestrade let out a surprised yell and looked up to see Moriarty coming towards him.

"Ok, baby." He winked and snapped the phone shut.

He was alone.


End file.
